The Way We Were
by Tough Fluff
Summary: If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was. [R/T]


**Note**: This one shot ficlet was inspired by Liza's Forget Paris. As I read it, I kept wondering what would happen if the roles were reversed. And I tried to address that in this fic. If you haven't read Liza's fic, I suggest you go now, because it's marvelous! Btw: this is called homage, not plagiarism!! 

**Dedications**: **Liza** cuz she unknowingly inspired this. **Priya** and **Reeka** cuz they beta the whole thing and didn't laugh at my mistakes. **ClownJon** cuz even though he has nothing to do with this fic, I want him to win damit!

**Disclaimer**: I do not claim ownership of Gilmore Girls and its colourful assortment of characters and dialogue. 

**The Way We Were**

By Tough Fluff

Rory Gilmore had never in her life paid this much attention to a piece of paper. She drank in every single word, her brain searched for any hidden emotion behind the simple phrasing. Her eyes rested on the little blanks. Little blanks where she was supposed to write down her final choice. She retracted her pen periodically, synchronizing with bouts of indecisiveness. 

Absentmindedly, she started chewing on her pen. It was an uncommon gesture, merely manifested from her current confused state. As the faint bite marks accumulated, she started to conjure up more and more of the past. 

Well, it all started when she came home from work today. 

Today started out as a good day. A fabulous day, where everything went smoothly without a hitch. She wasn't stuck in traffic, her favourite muffin was still available when she reached the deli, she didn't spill mustard onto her shirt, and her boss finally recognised all the hard work she had done. It was indeed a great day.

Not anymore. 

She couldn't pinpoint a specific time, but her day probably went downhill the moment she retrieved her mail after work. There, sandwiched between utility bills and miscellaneous junk mail, was a pale blue envelope. Its corner poked out of the nondescript white envelopes, silently demanding her attention. The innocent colour did nothing to prepare her for its content. 

She ripped it apart the moment she stepped into the comfort of her own apartment. It was an invitation. An invitation to a wedding. 

An invitation to Tristan DuGrey's wedding to be exact. 

All her muscles tensed up as she skimmed through the little invitation card. The agony peaked as her eyes landed on the groom's name. She tortured herself as she repeatedly double-checked it, twisting the knife further as Tristan's name appeared again and again. 

Tristan Marcus DuGrey. She quietly whispered his name. As if naming him in its entirety could clear up her mind. Rory enunciated every single syllable as if it could procure some kind of miracle therapy. 

The RSVP card stared back at her, challenging her to write on it. Many times her pen came tantalizingly close to the paper. Many times she took back her pen because she didn't know what she wanted. She selfishly wished that she had never seen this. Rory cursed the efficiency of the U.S postal service. Why couldn't they "accidentally" send this to a random location? Somewhere. Anywhere. 

Just not here. 

This way, her perfect day would go on being perfect. This way, she didn't have to think of the past. A time when _she_ was Tristan's significant other. A time when he surprised her with Broadway tickets for their one month anniversary. A time when they walked through Central Park, holding each other's hand and sharing an ice cream cone. 

Mint chocolate chip. She still remembered the flavour vividly, the way its minty coolness glided on her tongue. Rory, surprisingly, still remembered the pattern of his favourite scarf and the brand of his aftershave. The same way she remembered all other insignificant details that contribute to all of her bittersweet memories. 

It was incredibly painful to recall those times. Even more painful than she expected. She thought Tristan DuGrey was a part of her faded memory that she abandoned long ago. But those memories resurfaced easily. Rory was shocked. After all, didn't she forget about Tristan DuGrey? Didn't she chalk it up as another failed relationship? 

Didn't she move on?

She asked herself the same questions again and again when the answer was obvious to her. The simple answer to all of the above questions was simply, no. Despite her best intentions, she could not forget about Tristan. The one man in her life that made her laugh with youthful abandonment. 

The same man who made her cry voraciously into sleep. 

They met at a stuffy social gathering. She snuck out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air only to find him there already. The recognition was slow, but they warmed up to each other effortlessly. Faint recollections of their high school years soon evolved into hearty chatting. There were undeniable sparks between the two. And she basked in bubbly delirium. 

Granted, she had her share of volatile romances when she was young. They all ended as spectacularly as they started and she was slowly starting to doubt the existence of love. True, Tristan proved to be the epitome of masculine perfection. But Rory thought she was too old, too realistic, and too sensible to be swept off her feet. 

But Tristan swept her off her feet. And he did it spectacularly. There were moonlit waltzes, horseback rides in the country, Central Park picnics, and impromptu lunch dates. Her office was perpetually flooded with flowers. She was always humming a jovial tune and there was a delightful spring in her steps. 

She was in love. 

But deep inside, she knew none of this would last. This relationship was living on borrowed time. Tristan never hid the fact that he was engaged. He made it clear that he never liked his fiancé. _She_ was merely someone that her parents arranged long ago. _She_ was an obligation. A duty that he couldn't escape. He didn't love _her_. 

_Natalie._ Her name was Natalie. He didn't explain beyond that. He didn't have to. Even if he did, she didn't want to hear about it. It was like a hidden bruise. You couldn't see it, but you're aware of its existence. It hurt a lot if you touched it. But why would you want to acknowledge it or touch it?

More than once Tristan told her that he loved her. Only her. And Rory believed that. She knew that he was telling the truth. And she believed that if circumstances were different, the story would have a much happier ending. 

From the beginning till the end, she had the choice. She could listen to her head. Her rational side told her to leave while she could. Before she could get hurt. Her heart told her to plunge headfirst. To throw caution in the wind. To commit the one crazy action that she was entitled to. To heedlessly fall in love. 

For once Rory muffled the sounds of rationale and listened to her heart. But she also knew that she had consequently opened herself to all the pain this relationship brought. More than once she wondered if she would still make the same decision if she knew how much this would hurt. More than once she realized she would make the same choice. In a heartbeat. 

Numerous times she woke up in the middle of the night to find herself alone in bed. The only proof that he was here was the slightly dimpled mattress and his lingering scent. She lightly caressed the pillow he slept on. Rory had an epiphany when she stared at the emptiness beside her. His heart belonged to her, but _he_ didn't belong to her. But she learned to suppress those thoughts. 

She would look at the exquisite arrangement of calla lilies and wonder if he sent the same thing to _her_. She would huddle against him in the movie theatre and pretend to pay attention to the movie. In truth, she wondered if he ever brought _her _to the same movie and held _her_ the exact same way. But she slowly learned to ignore these destructive guesses. 

There was that time when the ringing of his cell phone interrupted an intimate dinner. An unprecedented premonition told her who was calling him. Rory gracefully made up an excuse and slipped into the ladies room. She didn't need to hear half of their conversation. She, of all people, had mastered the art of ignorance. 

Deep inside, she knew time was running out. She chose to ignore it. But ignorance had its limit. 

One day he invited her over to his place for dinner. It was their three month anniversary. While he was working up a sweat in the kitchen, she blissfully trod around his apartment. She was playfully examining the waxy leaves of his houseplants when she spied the stack of magazines tucked away in the corner. Bridal magazines. 

Either out of morbid curiosity or uncontrollable muscle movement, she squatted down and started flipping through them. She encountered post-it notes every few pages. They revealed an alarming amount of detail. Rory frantically flipped through the pile looking for extra post-it notes. There were like an addictive mind altering drug. She knew she should stop, but she couldn't. In five minutes, she knew more about their wedding than she needed to. 

With each discovery of post-it notes, she felt her heart sinking deeper and deeper. The last straw came when the magazine slipped out of her shaking hands and landed on the floor. Its page serendipitously opened to another page with a post-it note on it. 

A chubby little arrow pointed towards a bridal bouquet and right next to it, Natalie scribbled, "What do you think?" Her tears slowly marred the words into illegible blobs. She traced her finger along the ink stains. It forced her to face the reality. 

She didn't belong here. She immediately knew that she had to leave. This room. This place. 

This Man. 

As she dashed into the elevator, she kept wondering if Tristan would follow her. Maybe he would violently shake her, waking her up from this horrible nightmare. He would cuddle her and tell her everything was all right, he wasn't marrying another girl. But her rationale finally kicked in and told her he wouldn't. He probably saw the upturned magazines and knew that she was gone for good. 

It wasn't till she was bawling in the privacy of her apartment did she realise the importance of his presence. She felt like somebody had punched her in the stomach and left her gasping for air. The euphoric delirium had been replaced by a disorienting haze. 

Rory tried to create a Tristan box. But with every object she threw into the box, it only made her realise how their lives were hopelessly intertwined. Creating the Tristan box would mean discarding a part of her life into that box. Everywhere she looked, she was reminded of him. 

She knew that she had lost the love of her life. For good. 

She knew there wouldn't be another Tristan Dugrey to sweep her off her feet. Nothing would even come close to it. There were charming men, but she would always measure them against Tristan and they would always come up short. 

She bounced from one insufferable date to another, refusing to open herself to another person the way she did to him. Because she didn't want to get hurt again. 

It was something she learned to deal with. Something she got used to. Over time, she learned to hide her yearning for him. She chose to ignore his influence on her. Up till today, she thought she did a fine job. But a small pale blue envelope made her release all those pent up emotions. His face quietly materialized before her, reminding her the way they used to laugh together, the way he whispered into her ear in public, the way he touched her.

And the way they loved each other. 

The RSVP card was still patiently waiting for her decision when she snapped out of her trance. She wanted to go, because she needed the closure. To see him one last time before he became "off limits". This way she could truly move on. Move on to where? She didn't know. But she knew she needed to move on and this could kick start the progress. 

But at the same time, she didn't want to see the love of her life married to someone else. Could she sit through the ceremony feigning happiness when she knew he mirrored her inner misery? Could she stop herself from running out of the church midway through the ceremony?

She tried picturing herself sitting in the back pew. Watching him say his vows to _her_. Watching the moment when he was forever gone from her life when he slipped the ring onto _her_ finger. 

She couldn't do it. It was way too painful. 

Because of that, she finally made her decision. She brought her pen onto the RSVP card and she made a little check mark right next to "unable to attend". 


End file.
